


innocence died screaming

by trashcanbarbie



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassin Number Five | The Boy, Dark, F/M, Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Unhappy Ending, Vanya Hargreeves Deserves Better, haha he actually kind gets one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 02:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30115851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcanbarbie/pseuds/trashcanbarbie
Summary: Five is sent on another mission.His target? Vanya.Not Vanya.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy/Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	innocence died screaming

**Author's Note:**

> note:
> 
> okay, so in this AU Vanya's death causes the apocalypse. Five is an agent of The Commission and what does The Commission do? Continue the timeline. You get the idea. 
> 
> Five is also a little more...brainwashed, I guess. I think The Handler came for him a lot earlier in the apocalypse and that’s why. 

Five have been sent to The Handlers office, like a naughty child to the principals. He supposes he has another mission.

He knocks but doesn't listen for a reply and steps inside.

She's waiting for him, puffing away on her ever-present cigarette. “Five, darling.”

Five nods stiffly, stepping forward. “Handler,” he acknowledges.

“How good to see you,” she purrs. She's not normally this nice. Something is wrong.

He eyes her suspiciously. “What’s up your sleeve?”

“I have a mission for you,” she says, and if she wasn't a soulless bitch who can't feel human emotions, you'd think she was pleased.

He raises an eyebrow, taking a seat.

She makes a sad face and shakes her head slowly, a poor show of what she thinks sadness should be like. “I don't think you'll be happy, Five.”

He sighs, “then don't tell me.”

She looks at him like she wants to pinch his cheek. “Oh, you're such a grumpy old man.”

“Uh-huh,” Five nods dryly, watching the way she plays with a figure on her desk.

She sighs, swings her feet up to rest on the edge of the desk. “The apocalypse.”

Five wants to roll his eyes. Sometimes he thinks he never left that thirteen-year-old. “Yes, I'm familiar.”

She smiles icily. “It’s caused by your sister.”

He freezes. “Allison causes the apocalypse?” he asks, eyebrows high. “Didn't think she had it in her,” he says, thinking of his sister, Luther by her side, lecturing them all. She went for more low hanging fruit than the apocalypse, he recalls, and was developing a bit of a moral compass when he left.

She titters a bright laugh. “Not quite. The other one.”

Five gapes, in absolute disbelief. “ _Vanya_?”

“Vanya,” she confirms, relishing it. “That's her name, I’ve had a terrible time remembering.”

Five is still running behind. Damn the handler. She threw him a curveball and he fell for it. “How— how does Vanya cause it? She’s powerless?”

The handler hums. “You think, don't you?” He pulls his eyebrows together, she props her feet up on the desk. “Did you ever think it was strange? All of you have powers, yet Vanya didn't?”

Five stammers, “It was...it was just normal. No one ever stopped to think.” and they didn't, but if Five casts his mind back, as far as he can, he remembers things that never added up. Their insurance on the pills, the mystery illness that took her away from them for months, the way she was isolated and shunted by their father.

“Interesting.”

“We were children,” he defends hotly. For some reason Five _cares._ Five is known for not caring; for being a jerk. Now he’s defending himself and the family he hasn't even thought of in years.

She shakes her head a little, smiling at the wall. “She’s the most powerful of all of you. And you never knew it.”

Five pushes it out of his mind, he needs to get back on track, get assigned this mission and more. “So, what's my mission? Protect her?”

The Handler smiles the tiniest bit, fixing her eyes on him. “Kill her,” she enunciates cleanly, crisply, watching him with great delight.

Five gapes, pushing himself to his feet. “What?”He falls right into her trap, but he doesn't care.

“You heard me, Five,” The Handler says, not moving a muscle.

“She’s my sister,” he argues, like that really matters to The Commission.

“It's your mission,” she says, eyebrows high. The Handler is not letting this one go, he sees.

Five feels protest rise in his throat. “Yes, but —”

She leans forward, kicking her legs off the desk. Her stilettos tap on the floor. It sounds like icicles cracking. She stands, leaning over the desk, her skirt flaring up around her. Five imagines this is what a dragon would look like, all coiffed hair and red lips and cigarettes.

“No buts, _Five_. Complete your mission. Kill her,” The Handler commands, and she is not playing anymore. She’s serious. The time for banter is over.

He bows his head. There is no argument on this one. “Yes, Handler.”

“One question,” Five asks, stopping at the door.

“Hmm,” she acknowledges but doesn't look up from where she is rifling around in her purse.

“How does killing her cause the apocalypse?”

The handler shrugs, and finally looks up, fixing her eyes on him. “For me to know and you to find out.”

—

Vanya left the Academy at eighteen. She lives in the city, in a little apartment that is almost as nondescript as her. She holds violin lessons and profits off her book royalties to pay rent. She plays the violin at the Icarus Theatre, but apart from that keeps to herself. She has no friends, no family, and no pets. No one will miss her.

He goes along to a performance at the theatre, sits in the back with his legs kicked up. In this body, no one looks twice at him — he is twenty-something now. The burdens of being thirteen are lifted. In the commission, his age bounces around a little. Usually whatever is to The Handler's fancy.

The music is nice, not particularly groundbreaking but pleasant all the same. He can hardly hear her within the symphony, so he sneaks into their practice a week later instead.

His sister is a quiet, quivering thing. She was always small and anxious, but now she is all trembling hands and uncertain, no matter what she does. She stammers through her greetings, acting like people she's known since she started here are strangers and looks around nervously before she takes her violin out of its case.

They start to play, and she is dwarfed immediately. Five has spent many an afternoon watching Vanya playing, and he couldn't mistake her if he tried. Here, she is in the corner trying to push past people who are bigger— more confident.

Five shakes his head from the gallery high above the stage where he is watching from. His poor little sister lost in the noise.

It's still not enough. There are too many people playing, he needs her alone.

He kills the couple next door to her apartment and listens to her through the wall.

She has improved since they were thirteen, but she is still far from a prodigy. Her technical skills are proficient but she is just reading music off a scoreboard, she has no real fire for it. It is funny, because if Five thinks back to the academy, really, really hard, all he remembers is Vanya's passion. Arguing about bedtimes and dinner and eating her oatmeal. That was before her pills. Even after, her music was beautiful, not hollow, like this. Maybe Five is misremembering it.

The decision is made: She is still extra-ordinary.

—

The Handler asks why he's spending so much time on the mission.

_“Now, Five, you're usually so much of a quick shot. Almost too quick. Having troubles getting it up, darling?_

Five reminds her this mission is essential to the health of the timeline, to stopping the apocalypse. _You_ _really_ _want me to rush that one?_

The Handler quirks her lips at him and smokes her cigarette, and says nothing else.

Five leaves more infuriated than before.

—

He decides to make his move after that.

Vanya advertises her lessons online. Most of her clients will be kids, so he’ll say he just wants to learn a new skill, maybe he was inspired by something, a TED talk or a motivational podcast. Anything. It won't hold up for long, but it doesn't need to.

He books a lesson online and goes to her apartment (or, the one next to it) an hour early. He hears her previous student play dimly through the wall, then the vent when that's not loud enough, and smiles at her faint voice.

Then, his time rolls around. Finally, finally. He locks the door behind him and steps three steps over to hers.

He knocks, and waits. Five thinks about drawing it out more. Maybe it's not a good time. Maybe he needs more research.

Then, the door swings open and his choice has been made. Five's has been following her for the past few weeks, but she looks so different up close. It's strange. He thinks of The Before, when they were kids, where possibility still existed.

Vanya _, he mouthed across the silent table. She stopped, her fork hovering over her plate_ _expectantly_ _._

_He jerked his head down the table_ _subtly_ _, her gaze sliding there too._

_Their father is trying to eat spaghetti to no avail._

_She made a face at him and he_ _accidentally_ _let out a snort of laughter. The table froze. Whatever is quieter than absolute silence Five experienced in that moment._

_“Five, something you find funny?” his father asked,_ _coldly_ _, his fork placed back on the table._

_Five stopped smiling and fixed his gaze on the tablecloth, “No sir,” he answered._

_His father does not like_ _being laughed_ _at. Five_ _were punished_ _._

_It was all worth it to make Vanya smile._

_Another time, he was in her room, the smallest room, small and plain and holding only her clothes. She was playing the violin, and he had said he was doing his homework; but it's_ _been abandoned_ _for her. Her eyes_ _were fixed_ _on some distant point, the bow flying over the strings. Five knows he has superpowers, but it all seems dim when she plays. She’s the magic one, with the things she can create with_ _just_ _a few lines on a page and a violin._

_She finished, and turned her shy eyes on him, hiding behind her bangs. He hates those bangs. He loves her eyes._

_He swallowed back his dry throat. “It's beautiful, Vanya.”_

_She smiled_ _happily_ _, cheeks red and blushing._

_Then he remembers where he is and grins_ _widely_ _, sticking out a hand to her._

“Hey,” he says, layering a thick California accent over his own voice, just to be safe. “I’m Robert. Robert Green?”

Vanya looks confused. “Hello?”

Five adopts a sense of shy gentleness, one she won't recognise as him; as Five. “Uh, I'm your three’o’clock?”

“Oh,” her forehead wrinkles and wrinkles, but she still looks hesitant.

He chuckles. “Sorry, I guess your students are usually a little younger.”

She laughs too, at that, “yeah, they usually are.”

He looks up at her all apologetic and regretful, “Well, I hope it’s alright.”

She jumps at herself. “Oh! Yeah, yeah, not it's fine. Totally, totally fine.”

He smiles shyly as She opens the door to him. “Good.”

Her flat is assuming, plain, decorated well enough, but not with any personality. A true neutral: just like Vanya.

Her eyes are still locked on his, almost scrutinising.

“Something wrong?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

She shakes her head. “Nothing. you just..you kind of look like someone I know.” He reacts like he should, with pleasant interest. Vanya's eyes darted around the apartment, then back to him. “Used to know,” she amends quietly.

He is desperate to know more, touch her more, worm inside her life and just spend a little more time with her. Five used to dream about going back home. Even about doing things like arguing with his siblings. He dreamed about Vanya the most, though. “Oh, a friend?”

She inhales deeply. “Uh...Yeah. something like that," she shrugs apologetically, “I haven't seen him in a long time.”

He swallows dryly. “Huh.”

“So, what's the sudden motivation to learn?” she asks, clearing her throat. Her eyes are jumping all over him, his Adam's apple, the slip of the forearm exposed by his sleeve, the skin left of his eye.

He shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets awkwardly. Play the lovable oaf, clumsy and sweet and kind, no one ever suspects that. “Just...new skills and all that. I've always loved it.” He leans forward, drawn in by her. Vanya has always been strangely magnetic. “I--I grew up hearing it a lot,” he divulges. He hadn't prepared to say that, it's too close to the truth. It _is_ the truth. She’ll surely recognise it, she thinks, but Vanya just nods along.

Her eyebrows raise. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Uh, my mom played,” he lies. It's enough of a diversion to throw a wrench into the gears of Vanya's brain, or he hopes. “Annoyed all of us to bits, sometimes,” he chuckles.

She knows sympathetically. “If you ask my brothers and sisters they’ll probably say the same thing.”

He cocks his head, “Oh, you got a lot of siblings?”

“Hmm,” she hums, “there’s six of us. All adopted.”

“Wow,” he says, in the way people always respond when they hear that, “busy house, huh?”

She shrugs, “It seemed very empty.”

“Are you still close with all of them?” he cannot help himself.

“Uh, not really. I... I was a bit of an...outcast. Never really fit in,” she says it so light-heartedly, ''I don't think any of them are in touch, either, to be fair.” She shakes her head, casting the thought away physically. “Anyway. It doesn't matter.”

“No,” he agrees, “Not now.”

“Um, so, how much do you know?” she holds up a hand and clarifies, “about the violin?”

“Almost nothing. A bit about the different cords, but apart from that,” he shrugs helplessly.

She smiles confidently. “No worries.”

“Do you want some tea, coffee while we talk?” she offers, pointing to the tidy kitchen.

“Yeah, thanks. Coffee. Black.”

She nods and turns away to the kitchen. This is his shot.

He follows her in long, silent steps. She won't suspect a thing. It’ll be easy, quick. It won't hurt. She makes it to the counter, reaching for the instant coffee.

It is going to plan, until, “Vanya,” Five can't help but say. He's close, all too close, she’ll be alarmed and he might lose his chance. He's gotta do it now if he's gonna do it. Why did he have to warn her? Have to say it, just one last time?

“Oh!” she exclaimed, jumping out of her skin, then laughed. Five’s hand shakes. “Sorry,” she starts, turning around, “you scared me there—”

She makes a ragged, wet noise in shock and surprise. Five’s eyes slide down from her wide and watering eyes, past her open mouth, gasping like a fish, and to his hand, pressing the knife into her sternum.

He grips her tightly, and notes, distantly that he would have had a solid eight inches on her, in the end. Vanya's not much taller than she was back then.

“Five?” she chokes out. “Five?” Has she just figured it out now? Or did she suspect all along?

He drops the accent. “Does it hurt? It's not meant to hurt.”

“Five,” she just says, eyes locked on him, not into anything else.

“You have powers,” he tells her, now that it's too late. “You're so powerful. More than any of us.”

“It’s you?” she manages to grunt (or something near it). It's taking her such a long time to get this through her head. Five brings himself not to blame her this time, it has been fifteen odd years since he disappeared and there is a knife bone-deep in her chest.

His jaw trembles. He ducks his head down, rests it on her shoulder. She’s pale and cold and a bit clammy, but she still feels like Vanya, his sister Vanya. It feels like the best bit of his childhood, peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches, running from Pogo and laughing with his siblings, back when they were too young for it to be hard. It feels like Vanya, his closest sibling, Vanya. Always there for him. Always smart and soft and quietly beautiful.

“It’s me,” he whispers, his voice harsh and hot when he doesn't mean them to be. “I — I came back, finally.”

Vanya is taking rapid breaths against his sternum. The end is near.

“I shouldn't have left. I wish I stayed. Grew up with all of you,” he admits, for the first time in a long, long time. “It was hard, but a hell of a lot better than what I ended up in.”

She gargles next to his ear. “I'm sorry...I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” He strokes a hand across her back, the spine he can feel through her shirt. “It's a mission. You dying causes the end of the world. It doesn't make sense but we want that. The timeline must be preserved.” Her hair smells the same. “I'm sorry,” Five says, for the final time, and pulls the knife from her chest in one smooth movement.

He lets go of her, Vanya slumps to the ground, like some mannequin he doesn't know anymore. Just a mark. A finished job.

“I could have loved you,” he tells her, and notes the bloodstain across his shirt, massive and red like a firework. “If it was different.”

Vanya doesn't move.

“I really wanted that, once,” he murmurs to her, closing his eyes for a moment of silence. He opens them and strokes back her hair, tucking it away from her face. He always loved her hair, so long and dark and smooth.

Five knows his mission is complete.

He wonders what his siblings will think when they hear. If they’ll care, or if they'll just pretend too.

At least Vanya will feature on true-crime podcasts until the end of time. The mysterious, lonely girl, murdered by a man that doesn't exist. Was she in too deep? Was it a jealous lover? The landlord? The butler?

He doesn't want to leave, but he has too. The Handler will question him, he's already taken too long. She already thinks he is too weak. He protested too much about this mission.

He must remember he is only loyal to The Commission.


End file.
